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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653474">potent spice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/macsdennis/pseuds/macsdennis'>macsdennis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Queen's Gambit (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Benny is waiting, Beth goes back to new york, Canon Era, Differing perspectives, Eventual Smut, F/M, Light Angst, Mentions of addiction, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Addiction, Post-Canon, Touch-starved Beth Harmon, but also works as a sequel to my other TQG fic, can be read as a stand-alone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:07:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653474</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/macsdennis/pseuds/macsdennis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>To love her, Beth knew, was to damage yourself beyond repair. And Benny was far too smart to do that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beth Harmon/Benny Watts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>bookmarks</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. beth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Going back to New York feels like a bad idea. </p><p>As soon as the plane lands and Beth steps into the hot, heavy atmosphere of the city, her brain begins to tick uneasily. Russia was cold, and that’s what Beth liked. The crisp, light air made her feel alive in ways that she didn’t think were possible whenever she walked outside, filling her lungs with new potential. It was frosty and freezing almost all of the time, it felt like, and that’s how Beth wanted it to stay. </p><p>Admittedly, the cold weather meant nicer outfits, too. She now had three of those furry hats in different colours. </p><p>Being in Russia for six months after the final game had been calming, almost therapeutic. Jolene hadn’t been able to fly out at any point, but she rang Beth at her hotel almost every day to chat with her favourite cracker. Townes had stayed for a few weeks, too, making constant strong coffees and playing long games of chess with Beth sat on top of her bed. Harry had even called a few times to check in, resulting in some surprisingly lovely, long chats on the telephone. He was doing well, Beth had been pleased to find out. He had found himself a girl, some legal secretary he met at the library, and they were going steady.</p><p>Sometimes she still expected her mother to call, or even to walk through the door and crack open a cold one with some sort of comment about the decor in the hotel foyer, or switch on the television and suggest they order room service. Beth always reprimanded herself when that happened. No point in being morbid about it. </p><p>They were all looking out for her, Jolene and Townes and Harry, making sure she didn’t crack, making sure she didn’t reach for the bottle for one more, just one more taste. It was nice to have friends, Beth had realised. People cared about her.</p><p>Benny hadn’t called once. Or, if he had, it had been when Beth was out walking or shopping, and he had left no messages. </p><p>Sometimes, late at night, when Beth stared at the blank ceiling and willed the pieces to move around again, she wondered whether she should have gone back to New York straight away, gone back to Benny’s underground lair with the dusty mattress and cold flooring, and simply let herself back into his life. Let him in again, properly this time, with no holding back. </p><p>But maybe he didn’t want that.</p><p>It isn’t like you’re in love with him, Beth reassures herself as she splashes her face with cold water in the tiny airport bathroom. Of course not - to love Benny is to give away a piece of yourself, and to deal with all of his arrogant, self-masturbatory habits is to resign yourself to a frustrating life. </p><p>And to love Beth... </p><p>She stares at herself in the spotted mirror, momentarily thinking of when her stomach cramped up at that stupid tournament and she was forced to admit that womanhood had thrust itself upon her.</p><p>To love her, Beth knew, was to damage yourself beyond repair. And Benny was far too smart to do that. </p><p>There’s something rather comforting, Beth finds, about the stressful bustle of the airport, hearing words shouted in a language that doesn’t make her brain work overtime to decipher. She collects her bags with very little hassle and makes her way through the terminal, sunglasses still on. There are certainly a few faces that turn her way, a couple of awed whispers, but thankfully nobody stops to talk to her or shove a piece of paper into her hand to autograph. </p><p>The air is sticky - it’s the end of spring, sliding quickly into a heavy New York summer, and the restless sun beats down incessantly, making Beth’s hands sweat and slip on her cases. She hails a cab and sits down at last, taking off her sunglasses. </p><p>“Where to, hon?” The heavyset cabby chews gum as he talks, eyeing her in the mirror. </p><p>Beth should say a hotel. A nice, quiet hotel to stay in for a few days until she can work herself up to call him. She takes a deep breath. </p><p>Before she knows it, Benny’s address slips out of her mouth, and it’s too late. </p><p>The city flashes past the window like a kaleidoscope, tall buildings and yellow vehicles slipping by in a blur. The cabby makes some kind of comment about the traffic being good; Beth hums in agreement and leans her warm face against the cool window, shutting her eyes against the slow buzz of the moving taxi. </p><p>Will Benny be happy to see her? Will he even be in, or might he be out at some bar, chatting up some stranger, trying to impress her with his stupid knife? </p><p>The already warm cab seems to grow even hotter as Beth’s mind flashes back to when she last found herself at his place: the feeling of his hair ticking her ribs, her nails scratching against his wiry back, his tongue pressing itself against hers and opening her up in ways she never thought were possible. </p><p>“Here you go, hon.”</p><p>The cab stops.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. benny</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The apartment is too warm, but Benny can’t bring himself to move and put on the air con. Not likely that it’s working, anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The last six months have been uneventful, to say the least. A lack of travelling, a lack of stimulation, a lack of chess - a lack of a certain red haired, sharp eyed woman to pass his time - has left Benny with a gaping hole in his life.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">New York disgusts him, he realises as he idly plays with his knife, lounging on the dilapidated couch. The smells, the people, all the goddamn noise. After living almost three decades of being admired and fawned over, surrounded by people constantly, the city of rotten fucking apples is too much for him after all. And the apartment - the fucking underground hovel that it is - was getting on his nerves the more he stayed shacked up inside it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There have been some distractions, he rationalises in his mind, of course there have. Cleo had, for a short time, become a regular visitor, although not for any ulterior motive. It almost happened, one heavy night back in the winter. They had gone out for drinks in some seedy little bar that Benny knew a few blocks from his place, and had spent the night smoking and flirting and drinking far too much whiskey. She had struggled back to his, thin arm looped around his waist, and Benny had spotted a chance to forget for just one night. But, as he leaned in just outside his door, Cleo had pressed one long finger to his lips and pushed him back gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not tonight, darling.” She had whispered in that throaty, seductive voice. “It’s not right.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And, before Benny could even blink, she had jumped into a cab and whizzed off into the darkness. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he had tumbled into bed that night, head fuzzy with alcohol, Benny had touched himself. To begin with, he had thought of Cleo, thought of her sharp nails and dark hair hanging in front of her eyes. But no matter how hard he tried, those eyes become large and almond shaped, the colour of melted chocolate, and the dark hair had faded into vibrant orange, and the name he called out as he came certainly hadn’t been Cleo’s. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was fucked, in short. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had called round a few more times since then, for coffee and chats, distracting Benny with cutting commentaries about the insipid models and phoney photographers she worked with. But Cleo always seemed slightly preoccupied with something else, and always seemed to have some new modelling job to rush off to at any moment. Once though, soon after Beth’s championship, in a moment of sincerity, Cleo had lain a slim hand on top of Benny’s over the table and looked at him sternly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You should call her, you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Benny had scoffed and acted like he didn’t know who she was talking about, swiftly moving the conversation along. But he knew, of course he fucking knew.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hadn’t heard Beth’s voice in half a year, not since she won against Borgov. The morning after the long-awaited Moscow games, everyone long gone from his apartment, Benny had gone for a walk and was suddenly faced with a tense, beautiful and achingly familiar face staring at him in black and white from a newspaper stand outside a park.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">YOUNG CHESS PRODIGY BEATS BORGOV AT MOSCOW INVITATIONAL </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe it was spiteful of him not to buy a copy. He had cash on him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s not jealous of Beth at all, Benny tells himself as he taps his knife on his thigh. He’s been lying, shirtless, on his couch for the past hour, feeling as though he should get up and do something but unable to find it within himself to be bothered. Of course he’s not jealous of her, he’s proud of her - he just hates that he can’t stop thinking about her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His exclamation rings out into the sparse apartment, hanging in the air for a moment, and Benny immediately feels foolish for being such a child. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He checks his watch - six p.m. The days feel long recently, stretching out indefinitely into nothingness. Benny feels defeated by the awful city, but there’s been very little opportunity to travel. He hasn’t played a tournament in well over two months; at first it wasn’t for lack of trying, but now he simply cannot be bothered. He doesn’t want to stare over a chessboard at an opponent and not see those huge, sharp eyes boring back into him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Benny knows he should eat something, cook himself something decent, or at least try and call someone to go for dinner with him. Cleo always tells him he’s too skinny, whilst Benny was secure in the knowledge that a lot of girls actually liked his wiry arms and small waist. But now... what’s the point?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nothing has every thrown him like this, Benny realises, flinging an arm over his eyes then immediately feeling overdramatic, like some swooning romance heroine overcome with emotions for her dashing suitor. Nothing has ever come close to distracting him from chess - not alcohol, not sex, not anything. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Except Elizabeth fucking Harmon.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beth Harmon and her big, brown eyes. Beth Harmon and her sharp little mouth, and her long-fingered hands that frame her heart-shaped face over the familiar pieces. Her cutting wit, her bright hair, her hard fingers and soft thighs. Her problems, her mistakes, her vices and virtues. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s impossible to reach, Benny ponders to himself. Entirely impossible to reach, and entirely dangerous to love. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cringes at the memory of the first time they slept together, when the first thing he said afterwards, lying on top of her, his chest stuck to her sweaty back, breathing in the scent of her hair, was about a stupid chess move. At the time, he hadn’t understood why Beth was so pissed, why she huffed and pushed him off, turning away to face the door. But now, all Benny wishes he could do was go back in time and keep his goddamn mouth shut for once. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s still light out - there’s a stream of dusty sunlight filtering through the top of the apartment into the stale air. Benny ponders what he should do; go out, find Cleo or some other distraction? Or stay in and get drunk alone, Beth Harmon style. He has a bit of weed, he remembers, stashed away in a drawer somewhere, maybe enough for a small joint. That might make him sleep better. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His chess board is dusty, sat on the tabletop. If Benny was really going mad, he might even say it looks morose, silently begging him to play. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he’s not there yet, surely. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He jumps up suddenly, whacking his bare foot painfully on the bottom of the sofa, because a sharp knock outside of the apartment rings out into the silence. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Benny rubs his foot and hobbles to the door, rolling his eyes. Fucking Cleo, the one time she doesn’t let herself in- </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The door opens, and it isn’t Cleo standing there with a bottle of wine. Those eyes that haunt Benny’s dreams are suddenly there, really there, gazing up at him. She’s wearing a long, cream-coloured coat that looks far too heavy for the end of spring, and she’s bracketed in on the step by two large, brown suitcases.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi, Benny.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. beth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“I don’t know why my body is so intent on sabotaging my brain...”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">What?</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“My brain.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Who? Whose brain?</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“My body! My brain! When my brain is capable of sabotaging itself!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Your brain?</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“Your brain, dear. Your brain.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">A painful rush of air fills Beth’s lungs as she sits bolt upright, her mother’s voice ringing in her ears. It had been Alma, and yet something had been wrong; her voice had grated with a nasal, cackling quality, swimming around Beth’s head as she slept fitfully. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Beth sucks in gulps of stale air, rhythmically opening and closing her fists on the sheets to calm herself down. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Where is she?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">It takes her a moment or two to adjust to her surroundings: a hard, unfamiliar bed, a sparsely furnished, low-ceilinged room. Yellowish light filtering through the door left ajar.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Benny’s bedroom. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">She shivers, despite the room being almost uncomfortably warm, and sits up, drawing her cardigan around her shoulders. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The flight and the short taxi journey exhausted Beth, making her feel dead on her feet as she arrived at Benny’s. Seeing his face and his bare torso had been like a splash of cold water down her entire body. The first thing Beth had noticed was how tired he looked, although she guessed she hadn’t looked any better. She had said hello, and he had wordlessly picked up her bags and walked back inside the apartment. The rest was a blur - they had barely spoken, apart from Beth asking if she could sleep and leave the talking until tomorrow. Her body was still on Moscow time and she had been so tired that the moment her head hit the pillow, she was out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">She checks her watch - three in the morning, around eleven a.m. on her body clock. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The floor is cold, despite the heat of the room, on Beth’s bare feet as she stands up from the bed. Her suitcases are still shut and the slacks she flew in are draped across the end of the bed. She pulls the thin cardigan she kept on to wear to bed around her shoulders and pads out of the room, not bothering to put on trousers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">At first glance, the apartment looks empty and eerily still. Then a strange smell hits Beth’s nose, and she locates a stream of smoke coming from the kitchen area. Benny is stood at the hob, his bare back to Beth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Hi.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He turns, and Beth can see that there’s a small joint in his mouth. She almost laughs at the guilty expression on his face, like she’s his mom who caught him smoking out of his bedroom window. He leans back against the counter and puts the joint out in an abandoned coffee mug on the side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Hey. Sorry, I, uh... wouldn’t have smoked if I knew you were awake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“It’s okay.” The air is heavy and feels like glass. “Why are you up?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Couldn’t sleep.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Oh. Well, I’m still on Russian time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Figured.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">There’s something frying behind Benny. Beth looks at him and for a moment it seems as though he might say something, his mouth opens slightly, and then- </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I think something’s burning.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The smell is acrid as the smoke behind Benny turns darker. He whips around and bustles about the hob, swearing under his breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Fucking eggs, I was frying them...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You never were a wizard in the kitchen.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">She sees his shoulders tense, then drop, the muscle moving under his skin. She bites her lip.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I was joking.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I know.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Still not facing her, Benny moves the blackened pan and places it in the already cluttered sink. Beth takes a deep breath and tightens her arms around herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Benny, look, I’m sorry I just... turned up. I should’ve called first.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“It’s okay.” He turns around. “It’s good to see you. You look...” She sees his eyes drop momentarily down her body. “Healthy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He means sober. She looks sober - no more messy makeup, bloodshot eyes and shaky hands. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Thanks. I feel healthy.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">I am sober, she tells him in her head. I am miserably, irritatingly sober. All she wants right now is a drink, a cold beer to clear her head and make the words come out easier, but that isn’t an option. He must have alcohol in the apartment, she thinks as Benny walks away from the hob towards the table. He doesn’t have a reason not to, not anymore. But of course he wouldn’t let her have any. Or, perhaps he would - he would do the typical Benny Watts thing of acting like he doesn’t care, telling her she can do what she wants, then giving her the cold shoulder or showering her with disappointed, achingly sarcastic remarks. No pity, no coddling. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The chair scrapes on the floor as Benny sits down. Tentatively, Beth joins, sitting opposite him and bringing her bare knees up to her chin. His eyes are slightly red, from the pot or fatigue Beth doesn’t know, and shadowed with dark circles. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You look tired.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Benny smiles ruefully, looking at his hands clasped in front of him. “I am tired.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You haven’t been sleeping?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I try to. I’ve either been going out most nights of the week or just staying up, listening to music.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Going out where?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Just out. Drinking.” His eye catches hers sharply. “With Cleo, mostly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Beth’s brain begins to tick as she digests this statement. “Cleo?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The tap drips into the full sink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Are you trying to make me jealous?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Benny’s sardonic smile makes Beth’s hackles rise. Of course he’s trying to make her jealous, he’s trying to piss her off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Why would I do that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t know, Benny.” She narrows her eyes. “She’s a great lay, isn’t she?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">This finally gets a reaction. Benny’s mouth drops open and his cheeks colour up almost comically fast, the pink contrasting with his pale skin. He shuts his mouth and looks away again, and Beth mentally gives herself a point.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">When Benny next speaks, it’s almost a mumble. “So what have you been doing in Moscow for the last six months?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Shopping. Sight-seeing. Interviews sometimes.” Time for the gut punch. “Townes stayed with me for a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He raises an eyebrow. “Townes?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The unsaid question hangs in the air: </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Are you sleeping with him? </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I’ve spoken to Harry a few times. My friend Jolene calls most nights, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Isn’t that expensive?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“It’s worth it. Besides, she doesn’t have anyone else to call long distance, and I can pay her back. I have the money.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He doesn’t reply, just nods tightly. The tap is still dripping, coupled with the sound of cars driving by above the window.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Why didn’t you call me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">It sounds stupid, juvenile and stupid, like something she would have heard Margaret whining to her deadbeat boyfriend in high school - now her deadbeat husband. But it’s a necessary question - why hadn’t he said a work, not a fucking word, since he asked her to come to New York last time?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Benny is sat like a statue for a moment, staring at her across the table. They’re only a metre or so apart, but Beth feels as though she’s looking at him from the end of a tunnel. He finally moves, rubbing a large hand briefly over his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You seemed to be doing okay without me calling you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“How would you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He smiles nastily, and Beth’s heart twists. “Like you said, you had Townes to keep you company.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Anger rises in her throat like bile.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Fuck you, Benny.” It’s all coming up, pouring from her throat. The hurt and confusion, the mixed up feelings all spewing out of her system. “You can’t sit there and be jealous of him when you didn’t even bother to speak to me for half a fucking year!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Because you didn’t want to see me, you didn’t come back here!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I’m not your fucking wife, Benny! I don’t have to run to you whenever you tell me to, you’re not my keeper. But a, a phone call would have been nice, just to talk, but you couldn’t be bothered.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He shakes his head. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Harmon. I was your mentor, you don’t need me anymore.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">She scoffs. “Is that all this is to you, chess?” Benny opens his mouth to reply, but she cuts across him. “I should’ve known when you started analysing my goddamn moves after I fucked you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Silence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He leans forward, eyes like slits. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Nobody fucks me, Harmon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“It didn’t seem that way last time.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He looks away. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t need you, Benny.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Then why are you here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">It’s not a question. His voice is flat as he looks down at the floor, flat and expressionless. Beth’s heart is racing and she feels sick. This isn’t going as planned, none of this was supposed to happen. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Some force seems to move her off the chair and into the kitchen; Beth hears his chair scrape again as she begins opening cupboards, slamming draws open and shut.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What are you doing, Beth?” There’s a note of panic in Benny’s voice, hidden behind the anger, and she relishes in it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Where’s your booze?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">She turns to face him and steps back; Benny’s a lot closer to her than she realised, she can see his chest heaving.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Where is your alcohol, Benny?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Beth, don’t-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Why the fuck not?” She sounds insane, she knows she does, there’s a maniacal tone to her voice as she continues searching, but anything to get some sort of reaction. There’s blood rushing in her ears and her skin is hot and where is the fucking drink? “Why don’t we just get good and drunk, yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t be an idiot, Beth, you can’t drink-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Let’s have a drink, let’s have a goddamn drink or two or ten and fuck on the floor and play chess and pretend we hate each other and then go our separate ways, yeah? Sound good to you Benny? Does that sound-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">His hand closes around her wrist, and she whips around again. Benny’s bloodshot eyes are dark, staring at her, through her. He’s so close she can feel the heat radiating off his bare skin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I’m not letting you destroy yourself again, Harmon.” The words come out as almost a whisper, and the breath catches in Beth’s throat. “I’m not going to let you kill yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Why not?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The glass has broken, shattering the air around them. They’re in a bubble made of anger and resentment and sex and lost time, and everything is quiet apart from the heavy breathing. She feels hot all over again, the hard skin of Benny’s hand pressing down on her wrist, encasing it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And then, he says the words that Beth doesn’t want to hear. Or maybe she does, or maybe she simply doesn’t know. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Because I love you.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. benny</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As soon as the words leave Benny’s mouth and he sees Beth’s eyes widen, he wishes he could take them back. He wishes he could go back just a few seconds and tell himself to shut up. He should’ve let her have the goddamn drink, that would teach her.</p><p>“You...” Her voice is low and quiet. “You love me?”</p><p>His hand is still around her wrist, Benny realises. He snatches it back like his skin is burning her. </p><p>“I didn’t... fuck. I didn’t mean it like that.” Lies. You goddamn liar. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Beth is silent, and Benny wants to shake her. How is it fair that she can go from screaming like a madwoman to being as still as a statue in such quick succession? Does she not feel anything?</p><p>Finally, she moves, and Benny swears he can feel the air crackle around her as she comes even closer. The hand of the wrist he was grasping moves up towards his face and cups his cheek; Benny is the one standing still now, rooted to the spot like a tree.</p><p>When she speaks, finally, Beth’s voice is quiet but hard, with an edge of something that Benny can’t quite put his finger on.</p><p>“Say it again.”</p><p>And because Benny is stupid, and because Benny is desperate, and because Benny loves her, he says it again.</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>“Again.”</p><p>“Beth, I... love you.”</p><p>She shuts her beautiful eyes and seems to breathe some new life into her lungs. Benny is scared and captivated all at once, unable to look at her in the dim light of the wee hours.</p><p>She moves even closer, if that’s humanly possible, leaning up so her lips are almost brushing the shell of Benny’s ear. He shivers involuntarily.</p><p>“Fuck me.”</p><p>Benny’s brain short circuits. “What?”</p><p>“Fuck me.” Her voice is louder this time, rough in his ear. “Fuck me, Benny.” </p><p>The words shoot straight to Benny’s crotch. There’s something not right about this, something wrong in the way Beth is breathing and the way her hand flexes around his face, but it’s overridden by Benny’s arousal. He captures her lips with his in a kiss that quickly turns bruising as Beth bites his lip, moving her soft hands from his face down his shoulders, his back, his arms, pressing her hips into his. Benny moans involuntarily into Beth’s mouth and he feels her shudder. Suddenly she’s pulling him down until they both reach the floor, the tiles hard and uncomfortable against Benny’s back as he lies down. She’s on top of him like she was the last time, shucking off her cardigan and rocking harshly against his groin. </p><p>It’s too much. It’s all too much.</p><p>“Beth...” She ignores him, leaning down to work her mouth against his throat, and Benny almost gives up again. But there’s something in her eyes as she tries to unzip his pants that makes him freeze. They’re wide but unfocused. Wild. Scary.</p><p>“Beth, Beth.”</p><p>“What?” Her voice is breathy and ragged, and he finally has to catch her hands in his to make her stop.</p><p>“Harmon, stop.”</p><p>He feels the frustration in her, he can feel it vibrating on her skin. She sits up, flushed and still on top of him, and Benny has to fight very hard to ignore the erection that is painfully pressing against his pants.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Beth, I can’t do this. Not like this.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“I...” Benny Watts is rarely lost for words. Benny Watts prides himself on his confidence and his ability to conjure up witty comebacks within seconds, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and his chest is tight like a bear trap. He tries again. “I don’t want to fuck you, Beth.”</p><p>Beth’s face stays impassive but her eyes betray her; he can see the hurt behind them, the hurt and the anger and the confusion. She suddenly stands up over him and starts to walk away towards the bathroom. Benny scrambles to his feet and grabs her wrist again, but she shakes him off.</p><p>“Get off me, Benny.”</p><p>“I didn’t mean it like that, Harmon, I just-“</p><p>“Don’t fucking call me Harmon!” She whips around, eyes blazing and her perfect mouth turns downwards until it’s almost a snarl. Benny steps back. “Don’t call me that like I’m still your opponent, like I’m some little kid you’re entertaining. Don’t tell me you love me and then not take me to bed.”</p><p>“Beth, I don’t want to fuck you, I want to make love to you!”</p><p>She shakes her head, looking away from him and crossing her arms over her chest. “No you don’t. You don’t make love, Benny.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t do, Har- Beth.” Benny feels at once numb and totally wired, like all of his nerves have been cut. </p><p>Beth looks like the child he met years ago, confused and angry and isolated. </p><p>She looks at him once more before quickly turning and going into the bathroom, locking the door.</p><p>Benny stands stock still for another moment before he hears her sit down on one side of the door. He sits, heavily, on the other side and leans his warm face against the door.</p><p>He has a headache that’s splitting him open.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. beth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bathroom is colder than the rest of the flat. Beth shivers as she sinks to the floor and her bare thighs hit the tiles.</p><p>She can hear Benny sit down on the other side. She looks out of the window - the sky is still dark, but with a hint of a grey haze that suggests the sun will be on its upward journey soon. She’s tired, and cold, and angry.</p><p>Beth feels stupid, more than anything.</p><p>She hears a quiet thud that must be Benny’s head resting against the door, then hears his slightly muffled voice through the wood.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>No, of course I’m not okay, Beth wants to scream at him. I’m not okay because you love me and I can’t love you back, and you wouldn’t fuck me because all of a sudden you care about me and I can’t deal with it. </p><p>“I’m fine.” </p><p>Chess is... not easy. But it requires logic, and intuition, and concentration. It’s exciting but easy to predict at times, and there’s always a clear end in sight at one point or another.</p><p>With Benny, all Beth can see is the end causing pain for one or both of them. And she doesn’t even know what the end will be. </p><p>“Beth, look... I’ve got painkillers in there. Just don’t do anything stupid.”</p><p>She almost laughs. Looking around, she can see the cupboard above the tiny, cracked sink and guesses they must be in there.</p><p>“Beth?”</p><p>“Yes. I won’t.”</p><p>He doesn’t reply, but Beth hears another light thud against the door. </p><p>“Stop banging your head, you’ll get a headache.”</p><p>“I already have one.” </p><p>“This is a mess.”</p><p>She hears him sigh in response. “I know.”</p><p>“Benny, I...” What can Beth say? What can she possibly say that would make this situation any better?</p><p>She shuts her eyes and thinks of her mother. Not Alma, poor, sweet Alma. Her first mother.</p><p>Anything was better than running away, than swerving the wheel and crashing head-on. That had to be true - she had to say something before the hard, stony road hit her in the face and she couldn’t turn back. </p><p>“I do love you, Benny. But not in the way you want me to. At least... I don’t think I do. Not yet. I’m not in love with you.”</p><p>He doesn’t reply. She can hear his breathing.</p><p>“I can’t even take care of myself.”</p><p>“You can, Beth. You’ve been sober for six months.” He pauses. “You have, haven’t you?”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>How does Beth even begin to explain the constant upward slog that is sobriety? The shakes, the cravings, the nausea, the days where all she wants to do is say fuck it and reach for the bottle or the pills? </p><p>Sometimes, her brain convinces her that being drunk or high all the time is better. More real, more authentic. She can see things as they really are, and live her life they way in which she sees fit.</p><p>It was Jolene who dragged Beth out of the hole she was in, but now she has to do her own dragging, her own painful, tiresome climb. </p><p>And it hurts. Sobriety hurts her, because it’s an admission of weakness, of a vice to be conquered. </p><p>“So you’re looking after yourself. I know it gets hard, Beth, but you’re strong.” </p><p>Benny’s speaking with a sincerity that Beth has never heard. He’s the king of sarcasm, the skinny cowboy wannabe bad-boy who always has a trick up his sleeve, a snide comeback and an arrogant smirk to match. It’s disconcerting to hear him be so considerate.</p><p>The last time Beth came close to seeing Benny be sincere was when they last slept together. And, even then, he ruined it afterwards with just a few words.</p><p>“Why are you here, Beth?”</p><p>She takes a shaky breath. </p><p>“I just wanted to see you.”</p><p>“Will you please come out of there?”</p><p>The room seems to swerve slightly as Beth gets to her feet, taking a deep breath as she opens the door. Benny is still sat down, shirtless save for his jeans and the chain dangling on his chest. He looks up at her from the floor, and Beth swears she sees tears in his eyes.</p><p>“It’s okay that you don’t love me like that, Beth. I didn’t expect you to say it back.”</p><p>“Can we just...” Just what? What is it, Harmon?</p><p>“Can we go to bed?” </p><p> </p><p>The mattress is no longer warm from where Beth was lying. With a slightly awkward shuffle, they end up climbing silently between the sheets, lying side by side. Beth can feel Benny’s bare arm barely touching hers, the hairs tickling her skin.</p><p>“I’m not tired.”</p><p>His reply is almost whispered. “I am, but I won’t sleep.”</p><p>Wordlessly, he rolls over and gently pushes Beth onto her side. She complies, and suddenly his wiry arm is around her waist, hugging her body to his.</p><p>Beth hasn’t fully understood the phrase ‘touch-starved’ until now. </p><p>“We don’t have to, you know. Do anything.” Benny’s breath is warm against the nape of Beth’s neck as he speaks, and she shivers slightly. “I’m not expecting that, I know you don’t feel the same-“</p><p>“Benny. I want to.” Beth turns onto her other side to face him; his skin glows with an orange hue in the soft lamplight of the bedroom. “But I don’t want to if you’re going to get hurt.”</p><p>Benny smirks slightly, a hint of the man that Beth knows. “Is this you admitting that you care about me?” </p><p>In reply, Beth moves her head towards his on the pillow and kisses him. He reciprocates instantly, bringing a large hand up to hold her cheek gently. The kissing is unhurried and slow, just lips touching lips. Beth can feel Benny stirring against her; he gasps slightly as she moves her leg against him, biting her lip slightly. </p><p>“Are you sure-“</p><p>“Yes. If you are.”</p><p>It isn’t like last time. Last time, Beth had felt on fire from start to finish, sweaty and hot and carnal as Benny explored her body for the first time. It had been a battle, a competition, just like everything was between them. </p><p>This time, however, Beth lets Benny take over. Not because he’s won, or because he’s better than her - but because it’s what she wants. She wants to let him in.</p><p>There’s a shift and suddenly he’s hovering over her, the bed covers thrown to one side. Benny’s head moves down to Beth’s neck, planting small kisses down each side until he reaches her chest. Beth idly touches his hair, not holding him against her, but simply stroking and twirling. It’s longer than the last time she saw him. </p><p>Somehow her cardigan and vest are taken off and discarded to one side; Beth is only in her panties, breasts heaving as Benny quickly moves down to expertly lick and suck on her nipples, making her gasp. She can feel his shaky breath against her skin. </p><p>“Benny...” Beth has to struggle against the pleasure just from these manipulations to say his name. “Don’t take too long. I want to feel you.”</p><p>His head rises again, and Beth can finally see his face properly. He looks fucked, in short - pupils dark and blown, hair mussed, cheeks pink. </p><p>“You look so beautiful.”</p><p>The part of Beth that she tries to keep under wraps, the insecure, angry part, immediately wants to back away. Benny should not be sincere, should not be complimenting her like she’s a work of art.</p><p>But Beth is beautiful, and Beth believes him. She smiles. </p><p>“Have you got..?”</p><p>“Uh, yes. Hang on.” </p><p>He shuffles off of her, leaning over to the small cabinet next to the bed, and Beth has a chance to look at the impressive bulge he’s sporting in his jeans. She almost giggles - it must be painful at this point. </p><p>She shuts her eyes and breathes deeply. The room smells like Benny: sweat, aftershave, smoke. </p><p>Her eyes fly open in surprise as she feels scratchy stubble against her thigh, and looks down to see Benny’s eyes gazing up at her from between her legs, questioning. She nods quickly. </p><p>This all feels like deja-vu. </p><p>He doesn’t kiss her over her panties this time, but simply hooks her underwear in his fingers and pulls them down. Beth feels her heartbeat speed up as his fingers creep their way back up her right leg, teasing goosebumps out on her skin. He presses two fingers to her clit and moves them in a circular motion, and Beth shuts her eyes.<br/>
Beth can tell without looking that Benny is watching her with that same stare he gives her over the chessboard, and she revels in it. As he continues his manoeuvres, finally inserting the two fingers inside her, Beth arches her back off the bed and gasps.</p><p>“Those noises,” she hears him murmur quietly. “Tell me how you feel.”</p><p>“I feel...” It’s almost impossible to get the words out, Beth finds, as Benny’s tongue joins his fingers and gently but insistently licks her, making the embers in her belly roar to a full flame. “Oh, God, it feels... it feels...”</p><p>“Tell me.” His words vibrate against her core and Beth almost screams out, her hands flying to his hair. </p><p>“Don’t stop, don’t stop, feels so good Benny...” </p><p>He hums against her, sending all of Beth’s nerves into overdrive. She has to give it to him - Benny Watts is an expert in this department.</p><p>Her hands move from his hair to grip the sheets next to her as Benny places his hands on her thighs, spreading them further apart, opening her up more for him. He doubles his efforts, sucking sloppily at a faster pace. Beth feels like she might die.</p><p>The orgasm hits her like a punch in the stomach, like a brick falling from a roof. She cries out, grabbing his still wet hand in her own and arching her back again, panting like her lungs can’t fill with air quickly enough. He pulls away to watch her, resting his head against a shaking thigh as Beth shuts her eyes against the aftershocks. </p><p>“Are you-“</p><p>“Get inside me.”</p><p>Benny doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles up her body, placing a chaste kiss on her lips before shucking off his trousers and underwear and throwing them haphazardly off the bed. As Beth tries to catch her breath, she watches him open the packet and roll the condom onto himself, pumping his fists a few times and gritting his teeth. She lies back again and rubs his arm gently as he settles over her.</p><p>Benny doesn’t speak as he lines himself up to her entrance; it’s almost too much, the afterglow of a bone shaking orgasm coupled with the immediate fullness of Benny pushing inside of her, but Beth shuts her eyes and lets the overstimulating pleasure wash over her body. She hears Benny groan in her ear as he pushes inside, dropping his head to her shoulder.</p><p>“Tell me how you feel,” Beth whispers in his ear as he begins moving, mirroring his words from just a few minutes before. “Tell me, Benny.”</p><p>“God, I... you feel so good, Beth...” Benny is panting into her neck, speeding up his thrusts, making Beth gasp as they become harsher. “So good for me...”</p><p>A strange thrill shoots up Beth’s spine at those words and she moans in response, raking her short nails down his hot back. </p><p>“I’m not gonna last,” Benny’s voice is wrecked and ragged in Beth’s ear, and she turns her head to capture his lips in a messy kiss.</p><p>“Come for me, Benny,” she whispers into his mouth. “Just come, come...” </p><p>With a final thrust, Benny shudders and groans before letting himself fall forward onto the bed, his head still buried in Beth’s neck, one arm thrown across her stomach.</p><p>The sheets are tangled and sweaty; after Benny seemingly recovers, he kicks them off impatiently and manoeuvres himself so his head is lying on Beth’s sweaty chest. After a moment’s hesitation, Beth cards her fingers through his tousled hair, trying once again to catch her breath.</p><p>“Sun’s coming up.” She feels rather than hears him speak, feeling the rumbling vibrations against her bare breast. And, indeed, there is a warm glow coming from the gloomy apartment, creeping in through the half open door.</p><p>“We should probably sleep.”</p><p>Beth hums in agreement, but she doesn’t feel tired at all. She feels absolutely wired, alive and wide awake. She laughs lightly, and Benny raises his head, smiling.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Nothing. Just... it isn’t fair that you’re so good at that.”</p><p>“At what?”</p><p>“You know what. You shouldn’t be allowed to be as clever as you are, and also that good in bed.”</p><p>He grins snidely. “Well, you aren’t bad yourself, Harmon.”</p><p>Beth laughs again - and suddenly, she’s crying. Not just any crying either: sobbing, bawling, the tears starting suddenly as though floodgates burst open behind her eyes.</p><p>Benny immediately sits up, concern etched on his face. “Beth? What’s wrong? God, sorry, I know you don’t like me calling you Harmon, I’m sorry-“</p><p>“No, no, it’s not that.” Beth manages to gasp between sobs. She can’t even look at him; how humiliating, to cry immediately after sex. “I just... I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”</p><p>Benny doesn’t speak, but simply gathers her in his arms, pressing her face to his chest and kissing the top of her head. He rocks her gently, which makes Beth cry even harder into his shoulder. </p><p>This is what love feels like, she thinks. So why can’t I handle it?</p><p>“Shhh, baby. Shhh. It’s okay.”</p><p>“Benny…” Beth sniffs and sits up, hiccuping slightly.</p><p>“I don’t love you. But maybe I can... one day.”</p><p>Benny smiles gently.</p><p>“Maybe.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(little surprise in the final chapter btw)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. cleo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">New York is grey and warm, and Benny’s street smells like piss and gasoline.To stifle the smell, Cleo undoes the red scarf from around her hair and ties it over her mouth and nose like a mask before crossing the street.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She worries about Benny a lot. Why, when she prides herself on having no maternal instincts whatsoever, is she so caught up in looking after this... man-baby, this </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s2">enfant</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s1">? Benny’s arrogance can only get him so far, Cleo thinks to herself as she dodges a cab coming towards her on the road. He needs someone to reign him in and make sure he doesn’t implode. And maybe she can be that someone until a more permanent solution reveals itself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a short rap on the door brings no entrance, Cleo pushes at it once and it swings open. The apartment is as barren as usual, but something else catches her attention as she unwinds the scarf: a new and yet vaguely familiar smell. Fruity and subtle, like perfume. This seems odd. Benny’s place usually smells like coffee, smoke and dust. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just as she’s placing her handbag on the table, a noise makes her turn around. Benny emerges from his bedroom, clad in a shirt for once.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cleo?” He rubs his eyes and yawns. “What time is it? Did we have plans? Wait, aren’t you meant to be in Paris?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was in Paris, </span>
  <span class="s2">mon chéri</span>
  <span class="s1">.” She walks over and kisses him on the cheek, noting that there’s scruffy stubble on his chin. “I flew back two days ago. And no, we did not have plans, I thought I would come and check on you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s the time?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, past twelve o’clock, lazybones.” Cleo chides. He smiles ruefully. “Coffee?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Manners, Benny.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is practically your second home now, Cleo. I don’t think manners matter.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They always do, darling.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A companionable silence fills the space as Cleo turns on the stove and locates the crappy instant coffee that Benny favours. “Your sink is disgusting. Why do you insist on living like a pig?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Give me a break, huh?” He yawns again. “I’m tired.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you awake so late in the day?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t sleep until about seven this morning.” He doesn’t speak again, but judging by his expression, Cleo expects that there’s more to come - and she’s right.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beth’s here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now this she didn’t expect. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beth? Elizabeth Harmon?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Elizabeth Taylor.” He chuckles dryly. “Yes, Beth Harmon is here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where?” Cleo cranes her neck to look around the horrible apartment, then it dawns on her. “Ah. I see.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pours out the coffee and joins Benny at the table; he accepts the mug gratefully. They sip in silence for a while, until Benny blurts out: “Is it true you and Beth slept together?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cleo raises an eyebrow. “Naughty boy. I don’t kiss and tell.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Someone else clearly does.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He blows out a puff of air and smiles, looking down into his coffee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I also hope you’re not suggesting a... how do you say?</span>
  <span class="s2"> Ménage a trois</span>
  <span class="s1">?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She almost laughs aloud at how quickly his cheeks turn red, making his baby face look even younger than he is. “No, I just think it’s funny how we’ve all slept together at one time or another.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, it’s you chess freaks, you see. You’re all irresistible.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins and yawns again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How is Beth?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s... okay. She’s still asleep, I didn’t want to wake her. Her flight from Moscow came in yesterday.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cleo hasn’t seen Beth since that hazy night in Paris, when the drinks flowed and the flirting started and all of their surroundings became a colourful blur. She vaguely remembers half waking up the next morning, seeing a frantic figure scrambling around the hotel room with wet hair and smeared lipstick. She remembers how much her head hurt whilst watching Beth play, and how rough Beth had looked. Her usually laser-focused stare had become dazed and panicked - it had been painful to watch, even for Cleo, who knew next to nothing about chess.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s something deeply alluring about Beth Harmon, Cleo thinks as she sips the burnt coffee, and it’s blindingly obvious that Benny loves her - she can hear it in the way he says her name, like a precious jewel or a Latin word that he doesn’t quite know how to pronounce. She’s too good for him, of course... but, then again, maybe not. Maybe he’s grown up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You seem different,” Cleo ponders. Benny looks slightly alarmed. “Not in a bad way. You’re not... how do you say it? Not so jittery. Or arrogant.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises an eyebrow. “Thanks very much.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cleo?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Both Cleo and Benny turn at the sound of a familiar voice. Beth is stood in the doorway to Benny’s bedroom, her now longer hair pushed back into a loose bun and her face free of makeup, making her look much younger. She’s wearing a large black t-shirt that can only be an old one of Benny’s and a pair of grey silk pyjama shorts with bare feet. Her thin arms are crossed over her chest, and she smiles rather awkwardly at the pair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cleo gets up immediately and pulls the girl into a hug. There’s slight resistance, only for a second, until Beth hugs her back. She smells the same - fruity and fresh - and Cleo can’t detect any alcoholic scent on her breath or hair. She smiles and pulls away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You look breathtaking, darling.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beth grins sheepishly and looks down. “I’ve just woken up, I’m sure I look a mess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pah!” Cleo takes Beth’s small hand in her own and marches her over to the table. Benny sips his coffee in acknowledgment, but says nothing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Benny, will you make us some eggs?” Cleo flicks her fringe out of her eyes as she speaks. When Benny looks like he might protest, she speaks over him. “Poached, if you please. And get your guest Beth a coffee, maybe?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighs resignedly and gets up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cleo turns back to Beth. There’s clearly much catching up to do. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How was Moscow?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The question seems to release some tension from the girl, who leans back in her chair, looking slightly more relaxed. “I loved it. I want to go back as soon as I can. It’s just... cold, and beautiful.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just like someone I know, Cleo thinks absently. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you doing back in New York?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just visiting, there’s no tournaments coming up so I have time to go home. And I, um. I came to see Benny, really.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cleo smirks and raises her eyebrows. Beth blushes, then hurriedly speaks again. “What about you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I finished some awful shoot in Paris and came straight back here. I’m off to Milan in a few days, hopefully to work with a photographer who isn’t such a creep.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beth’s big, beautiful eyes are inquisitive. That’s something that Cleo always liked about Beth: sometimes she didn’t listen, not out of rudeness, but because her mind was already ten paces ahead; when she did listen, however, she gave you her full attention with that penetrating gaze, sometimes resting her pointed chin on her long-fingered hands. It was flattering, to say the least. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, I hope your next shoot is better.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Benny looks like he’s almost done with the breakfast, so Cleo takes the opportunity. She leans forward and places a hand over Beth’s.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You look well, Beth. Really, really well. Keep going, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And don’t let this man-baby boss you around, yes? You are your own woman.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Beth gives a small smile which eventually breaks into a grin. “Thank you, Cleo.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you two gossiping about?” Benny returns to the table, balancing three plates on his arms with a mug of coffee precariously placed in one hand. Cleo rolls her eyes: show-off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing of your concern, Benny.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hands the plates out and sits down, passing Beth her coffee. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you sleep okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cleo considers the pair as she pushes the soggy eggs around her plate. The wire-thin, sarcastic cowboy with an arrogant streak a mile long, and the beautiful, unreadable enigma with demons as big as a house.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Both prodigies. Both geniuses. Both stupidly oblivious to their similarities and far too aware of their differences.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hears Benny make some kind of funny comment, sees Beth grin and shake her head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sees the way Benny looks at Beth when she shuts her eyes and sips her drink. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She watches the way Beth absentmindedly brushes a lock of Benny’s hair out of his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For two geniuses, Cleo thinks, they’re both incredibly dim-witted. They are so clearly in love, and both too stubborn, or damaged, or just plain scared to admit it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cleo?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re both staring at her. Benny continues, chuckling. “You okay? Kind of zoned out on us there, kid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“</span>
  <span class="s2">Oui</span>
  <span class="s1">, I’m fine, darling.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She watches Benny steal an egg from Beth’s plate as she hits him playfully. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cleo smiles.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’ll be okay. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i REFUSE to admit that beth and cleo did not canonically sleep together</p><p>surprise! cleo is my favourite of the many excellent side characters so i thought a third-person chapter from her perspective would work in the context</p><p>thank you all for your amazing feedback on this story and my last TQG fic, it honestly means the world! &lt;3</p><p>EDIT: I DID NOT MEAN THIS IS MY LAST TGQ FIC!! i meant thank you for all the feedback on my other beth/benny fic!! i am definitely planning to write more of these two idiot geniuses</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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